With a bent front wheel and our mates out of range on the radio or phone, we decided to limp 10 kilometres to the Heathlands Ranger station for help. We drove slowly with the tyres squeaking as they dragged along the dirt. I made a few pointless calls over the radio then suddenly, clear as a bell, we heard Daryl’s voice on the radio.
Our mates had come back for us and were waiting just a couple of klicks up the road. Together we travelled to the base and roused the ranger (it was a hot Sunday and close to lunchtime) who gave us a phone, drinking water and an incredible place to camp for the night until the tow truck could come back for us the following day.
We said goodbye to Daryl and Tracey and agreed to meet up again somewhere near Bamaga, the nearest RACQ base. Then we pulled the camper a little way up the road and set up camp on a blissfully crocodile-habitat-free airstrip, red as an autumn leaf, spreading everything out to get it dry and dragging our chairs onto the runway to watch one of the most spectacular sunsets you could imagine; it went for more than an hour. The only thing that comes close to it was the next morning’s sunrise.
You hear about the kindness of strangers and the hospitality of folks up here, and every word is true. The two old blokes who came to rescue us in the morning were sympathetic and weren’t in a hurry. They gave us a ute and offered us old water before we started the three-hour trip to Bamaga Spares & Repairs.
Big Red crossed the Jardine River on the back of the truck and the workshop let us use the ute to tow the trailer here to Seisa Holiday Park. It’s here we’ve stayed, for a week, making the most of the five night’s emergency accommodation allowance from our insurance, the showers, and our very own beach hut with running water and power.
It’s quite a bizarre campsite but it’s been ideal for our situation; there’s a shop 300 metres down the road and a library with free wifi. The beach is absolutely stunning but deadly, with two large (four metre) crocs who also call it home. We fished off the jetty, underneath of which is teaming with fish, but most of the time you’re just feeding the sharks or the huge grouper than lives there.
And so we wait. It’s been a week, we’re hoping the parts will come and the car will be ready soon so we can travel the last 50km to The Tip. The rest of the group has been and gone so we’re on our own again, although you’re never really on your own, not even way up here. Yesterday, our neighbours brought us cakes for the kids from a market they visited; the wonderfully generous lady in the arts and crafts centre here at the campsite has given the kids shells to play with and loaned us books and a paddling pool, and we met another family with four kids and two broken cars.
Breaking down is all part of the adventure; this isn’t the first time we’ve needed the services of a large rescue truck and I’m sure it won’t be the last, but hopefully it’s the last time for this trip!
